


Temptations

by averageclawenfangirl



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Clawen, Dominant Owen, F/M, I Tried, Office Sex, Smut, fluff? idk, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7790644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averageclawenfangirl/pseuds/averageclawenfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire wants something a little different, a little wild. Could Owen Grady step up to the mark?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so.. This is my first time writing stuff like this, so please: be forgiving. Smut is way out of my comfort zone, but I tried (honestly, I really did!) even though I lost a huge piece of it and found it really difficult to replace. In short: I finally cracked under the pressure of taking the tension between Claire & Owen a little further. I hope you guys like this. (Just a warning: elements of Dominant Owen).
> 
> In association with [**this**](http://auroradunnpreston.tumblr.com/post/148927802684/inspired-by-some-freaking-awesome-unpublished) incredible edit by the wonderful [@birdmacklin](https://tmblr.co/mpPQOHqsPeM_bXqm9t6jINw) ❤️ (Sarah - thankyou. For everything!). 

He was late. He was _always_ late. To Claire, it seemed Owen Grady was constantly looking for ways to irritate her; to get under her skin, cause her cheeks to flush embarrassingly every time he was in her presence. He was never cruel; but his jokes unsettled Claire, his eyes never leaving hers as they spoke. Owen was working towards the Magnum Opus of it all, twenty minutes behind schedule for a meeting he’d begged her for.

Claire tapped her fingers on the walnut desk impatiently. _She knew about men like him._ Claire made a habit not to pay heed to water-cooler gossip, but barely a week went by when the women of Control would tell a giggling story of the weekend; the handsome raptor wrangler strutting about the resort bars with the gorgeous face he knew he had. He would steal off to the mainland; indulge in the local girls and local tequila. Claire had seen Owen a few times on a Sunday morning, as she’d made her way to her office; ushering beautiful, dark-haired women to the port, arrogant smile on his face, kindness in his eyes.

He always went back for more. He _always_ kept them sweet. Owen Grady was a loner; Claire knew that much, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t play the strings of those around him. He kept to himself; only friends with - as far as Claire could see - Barry Dumont, and a sparse amount of other people involved in Project IBRIS. Owen lived far off in the outskirts of the island, alone in his bungalow, perhaps choosing the solitude as a way to repair his broken soul after his turbulent time in the Navy - or, so she’d deduced from his files.

Owen was a contradiction; he’d bask in the attention, but slink back to his bungalow when all was said and done, ready to roll again when the time came. He was all muscular 6'2" wrapped in gorgeous tan skin, with infuriatingly sexy features. His stance commanded respect in whatever situation, and everybody and their mother on the island knew he was an alpha; the velociraptor sisters under his control, even Hoskins bowing to his command when he gave it. 

The similarities between Claire and Owen were few and far between, but they still stood. _She’d_ been the one responsible for the continued success of Jurassic World for five years; revenue climbing each season, Masrani falling over themselves to thank her. It was exciting, putting in all hours to make the numbers tick. _Until it wasn’t._ Claire was _bored,_ bored of staying on the path laid out for her. She was restless, strung out. Claire needed a distraction, a way to let loose. Something a little wild. _Something,_ a voice in the back of her mind said, _a little like Owen Grady._

//

“So, you think you can make it happen? The funding?” Owen asked, leaning back from the desk, folding his arms behind his head in a move too casual for a meeting with the Operations Manager of the entire park. Claire narrowed her eyes a little; irritated by his attitude, his twenty minute penalty and also with herself. She had failed to miss how the fabric of his pants lay even closer to his thighs as he moved, the material of his shirt stretched to breaking point against the curve of his biceps. Unnecessary - and _unfair_ \- distractions, her mind wandering where it shouldn’t, as she noted his hands were clean - for once. 

“Mr Grady, forgive me, but I don’t possess a magic wand. I’ll see what’s possible when I next meet with Simon,” she shrugged, unnerved by his lazy grin when she looked up from her papers. “You’re a funny woman, Ms Dearing,” he drawled, quirking a brow suggestively. “Funny _looking_?” Claire asked, ready to have him ejected from her office in the next moment. Owen chuckled, shifting in his seat, folding his arms over one another. “No,” he mused, “I think we’ve moved past the point where you could reprimand me for being inappropriate, so I’ll tell you straight up that you’re beautiful. I just meant I had no idea you could crack a joke.” 

Claire stilled for a beat; her hand falling from the files she’d been arranging. The notion of him finding her attractive was a strange revelation, stranger still the way it made her feel. Something had always hung in the air between them, ever since their first encounter. She was attracted to Owen - so badly, it pained her, and Claire hadn’t been able to put it past her even in the years he’d been on the island. He was an asshole, sure; but something in the way he spoke to her.. The tender humour, the wanting in his voice. One was waiting for the other to crack, to give in. 

“Well, thankyou. I _think_ ,” Claire muttered, clearing her throat. “If you could actually manage to arrive on time for our next meeting, it would be appreciated. I do have _others_ on this island I need to speak to,” she sighed, standing up, ready to gesture him out of her office. One-on-one time with Owen was intense, draining. Claire left conflicted every time. “Ah, but I’m the one you look forward to the _most_ ,” Owen chuckled, standing from his chair with easy grace. Claire couldn’t fight it, the smile that pained her cheeks as she rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she was caught off guard. 

Claire came to stand in front of him; sighing a little as he laughed. His hands on his hips, hers clasped and resting on her thighs. “ _There_ it is. I like making you smile, pretty lady,” he said quietly; the humour in his eyes replaced with something else entirely, something reminiscent of wanting. Claire bit her lip, the tension in the room between as she watched him swallow. He felt it too; Owen just as on edge as her. He leant forward, his fingers grasping either of her wrists. It was the first time she’d ever seen him be hesitant, his breath warm on her cheek. He was daring her, asking her to let him in. Then, he was kissing her. 

Owen’s face was inches from hers; the evergreen of his eyes, fringed with dark lashes, the stubble she wanted to touch, to feel on her skin, distracting her from everything other than _him_. Owen Grady, his hands sliding into her hair as hers found his chest, kissing her hard as she put up no fight. It was teeth and tongue and everything Claire wanted it to be; he was hot and persistent against her mouth, her body betraying her as she moaned freely, revelling in the feel of him against her.

The reality of the situation hit, and Claire found herself breaking away from him, gazing at one another. Owen pinned her to the wall, hips against hers; not aggressively, but in a way that excited her, made the breath hitch in Claire’s throat. He kissed her once more; too lightly, several times, teasing her, testing her. “I know you want me, Claire,” Owen murmured, using a thumb to tilt her chin backwards, turning his attention to her throat. “But I’m gonna have to hear you say it,” he said, his teeth scraping a little at her skin. Claire could feel herself trembling, the blood pooling in her belly, rules and regulations draining from her soul. 

“You’re _ridiculous,_ ” she whispered raggedly, delighting in the feel of his muscles beneath her hands. Even through Owen’s shirt; Claire sensed his strength, the iron cords of his biceps holding her in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, lifting his head, eyebrow raised. His smirk infuriated her; Claire knew he’d play this game, that she wouldn’t get what she wanted until she asked. It would be a tantalising way for Claire to cede control, to give in, safe in the knowledge he wouldn’t hurt her. She knew he wouldn’t. Owen’s hands ghosted over her waist; and she burned for him wantonly, desperate for contact. 

“Owen - I, I -” Claire stammered as he softly squeezed her ass, her head falling back further as she gasped. “Not good enough, baby. Tell me what you _want_ ,” Owen muttered; tilting her head, catching her ear lobe between his teeth. “ _Goddamnit_ , Owen. _Yes_ , I want you,” Claire hissed; the pulsing in her core almost too much to bear. “You _want_ me.. To what?” He drawled, even his voice turning her on more than she thought possible. His fingers almost slipped under her shirt; toying with her, keeping her close to the edge. Owen rubbed circles against her skin, the hairs on her neck lifting as her desire spiralled out of control. “You want me to touch you?” He said softly, and Claire half-cried out with need, nodding her head as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Owen seemed to take pity on Claire; he was just as eager for skin on skin, his hands on her underneath her shirt. He caught her lips with his own; tongue sliding against hers in the wildest kiss Claire had ever experienced. It was the kind of kiss she’d only ever read about; the two of them hungry for one another, him equally as insatiable for her. His scent suddenly became the only thing she knew to be real; the sun he’d been working under all day, the sweat and whiskey, the leather and grime, a contradiction against her prim white suit, her pale complexion. 

Owen’s fingers traced over her back, thumbs brushing against her ribs, her waist slotting comfortably into his formidable grasp. He popped open the clasp of her bra easily; too easily, not removing it from underneath her clothes, but merely slipping his hands past it, cupping her, running his thumbs against her, Claire’s breathing quickening as she broke away from him, their foreheads touching. “ _Christ_ , Owen,” she groaned, glad for the support of the wall behind her. Claire was gripping his hair; chest rising and falling into his large, capable hands, the feel of his calloused skin working miracles nothing short of ecstasy. 

“Not the strangest name a girl’s ever called me,” Owen chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. His hands hadn’t abandoned her breasts; he was still working them over, sending delicious shivers down Claire’s spine. She was suddenly extremely aware that they were, in actual fact, in her office, though there was only one window with no real view, the danger was still there. “We _can’t_ \- not here -” she tried to argue, and he ceased immediately. “You want me to stop? Just say the word,” he asked sincerely, his breathing heavy as her own. 

Claire couldn’t help herself. She was on another plane; too selfish to come back to Earth any time soon, already too addicted to his touch. Claire shook her head; and he kissed her, differently to how he had before. It was slow and sweet and reassuring, though the moment didn’t last for long. Within a second his hands were gone from her body. Owen span them round; Claire’s thighs pressed into the edge of her desk, Owen stood flush against her, his sheer mass warm against her own. He began to gather the fabric of her silk skirt in one hand; biting and sucking at the flesh between her neck and shoulder, the surprise of the sensation almost overwhelming Claire, her heart rate spiking as she gripped Owen’s arm. Lust for him swept through her like a monsoon; she was helpless, totally at sea in her desire for him. 

She was flustered; straps of her underwear slipping down her shoulders, bangs sticking to her forehead, cheeks flushed as the breath caught in her throat. The front Claire built up was falling apart; Owen undoing every defence she’d made against him, against the freedom she’d been searching for. He slowly slid his free hand into her panties; barely feeling her, though his touch was still so decidedly _there_. He was winding her tighter and tighter, sweetly stroking her, not giving her what she needed just yet. Claire felt the fire in her core; and she moaned, Owen chuckling lowly into her shoulder. “Look at you,” he whispered into her ear, “You’re so ready for me,” he remarked softly, gently slipping his fingers inside of her. Claire was glad he had a strong hold on her, for she was certain otherwise her knees would have given way. 

She was seeing stars; colours flashing bright in her eyes as pleasure washed over her, Owen’s steady rhythm bringing her to the brink and back again. He soon abandoned his hold on her skirt; letting it settle over her thighs, his free hand moving to gently grasp her throat. It wasn’t constricting; she could still breathe, and Claire found she loved his hand there, fingers curled into her flesh. Owen was in control; and she was surrendering, for once in her life, to a man who wanted her, _needed_ her, and she him. 

The pressure of his movements was magical; Claire had never been touched any way like it before. “Mmh. Good _girl_ ,” he murmured into her hair; “You have _no_ idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he said, hardening against her. Claire felt so alive at his words; the blood singing in her veins. She convulsed with pleasure as Owen took her to paradise with his rhythm, thumb stroking the most sensitive part of her body. Whether it was the start of something to continue, Claire wasn’t sure.. But she knew that, as of this moment, she’d been right. Owen Grady was _made_ for this; a temptation she couldn’t resist. Claire was ready to submit to him, to lose control, even if only behind closed doors. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's fallen too hard, and too soon. Does Owen feel the same way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Again: elements of Dominant Owen. But you knew that, right?)

Claire tapped her fingers against the wheel, her mind in a whirlwind. It was late evening; the sky inky save for a few stars and fading sunset as she drove out of the resort, heading for the bungalow. The serenity of the view around her did nothing to distract Claire from her dilemma. She couldn’t be sure if she was overreacting; if asking Owen the questions she had would be too much at too early a stage.

Claire had come straight from Control; her day stressful to say the least, Owen on her mind every spare moment she had. Driving in heels was something she’d become accustomed to, her business wardrobe regularly finding a home on the floor of Owen’s bungalow or some corner of her office whenever he stopped by for a _meeting_. Claire was sure he’d appreciate her powder-blue dress that clung close to her body, tapering to her knees with a sweetheart neckline. 

Claire still felt a little unsure around Owen, treading lightly, helplessly trying to make sense of _whatever_ it was that happened between them every time they met. Casual, mindblowing sex was not something Claire ever saw happening as Operations Manager of Jurassic World, not least with the errant raptor trainer recruited by InGen. She was sure he wound her up on purpose; baiting her in conferences when the two of them should have been concentrating on more important things. Owen was never cruel, though. He didn’t use words. A simple hand on her knee below the desks was enough, his fingers rubbing circles on her skin, Claire clamping her thighs shut as her throat dried. 

Other times, they’d argue. Just because he’d fucked her countless times in her office didn’t mean they would somehow magically see eye-to-eye over night regarding all things business. Their blood would boil before one would reach for the other; solving things the only way they knew how. Claire had tried and failed not to fall for Owen; he was a player taking the whole world for a fool, a line of pretty women falling into his bed one by one. She hadn’t wanted to become another number; Claire had no issue with promiscuity, but it wasn’t a life she lead. Until Owen had kissed her, taken her, turned everything she knew on its head. 

He was dominant with her, taking control when they were together. It was a release, of sorts, for Claire; and Owen had never once abused the unspoken trust she’d placed in him. She basked in his attention; he was poetic in his adoration, always striving to please her. But the sex was just that - _just_ sex, even though it was almost impossibly good. There had been no dates to speak of; just hushed whispers as they redressed, fond kisses to foreheads, sporadic texts throughout the week. As each day passed, Claire looked forward more and more to his name appearing on her screen, his smirk at her door. 

She hadn’t wanted it to happen, and now she was stuck. What made it all the more worse was the fact Claire had no idea if Owen felt the same; if she was another notch on the bedpost; fucking the big boss of the park some lifetime achievement for him. Deep in her heart, Claire knew it wouldn’t be true, that she meant more to Owen. She could see it - feel it, when they collapsed together in the aftermath, sweaty skin and calming breaths as he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, nudging her nose with his own. Owen was careful - _loving_ \- with Claire; never giving her too much but ensuring she never went away with too little. 

But was she _enough_? Was Claire enough for him, enough to stop his Friday night activities as he snuck away on the ferry, keen to break some hearts on the mainland? Claire didn’t want to share Owen; she was suddenly selfish, but felt she had no right to be. She had no idea whether he was still gallivanting about with the local women, not wanting to keep tabs or hold him under her thumb. It was too soon, and already she was in too deep. The storm in her mind continued to rage as Claire killed the engine of the Mercedes, taking a deep breath to compose herself. She could see Owen; the lights strung about the decking illuminating his frame as he busied himself with something on the workbench. He’d turned at the sound of her car; Claire could almost see his grin from where she was sat. 

//

Owen offered Claire a hand to climb the steps, wrapping her into his arms as soon as he was able. Her head fit comfortably under his chin; her palms flat against the barrelled plain of his chest, warm against her even underneath his Henley. The embrace was already too familiar, too intimate. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” he murmured, leaning back a little to hold her at arm’s length, peering at her in the glow from the lights inside the bungalow. “How’d today go?” He asked, and Claire shrugged. 

“Three investors secured for the coming season. The other two appear to be a little harder to crack, but we’ll get there,” she smiled, and Owen studied her for a moment, brow creasing. “This is new,” he remarked, his thumb tracing her lower lip. Claire flushed instinctively; unnerved by the fact he’d noticed her new red berry lip balm. “Something has to sweeten them up, I guess,” she laughed softly, and Owen shook his head. “You’ve got everythin’ you need for that in _there_ ,” he motioned, moving to brush gently over her temple, the side of her face resting in his hand. 

“You don’t need all that fancy shit. Although,” he grinned; leaning down to kiss her, tongue tracing against her lips, slipping past her own, “it _does_ taste good,” he said a few moments later. “I like this, too,” Owen said; looking downwards toward her dress, hands following his eyes, resting them on her hips. “I _want_ to believe it’s all for me,” he laughed darkly, Claire pressed gently against the door in one fluid motion. Owen tilted her head back easily with his thumb; his mouth eager for her throat. His teeth grazed her skin, kisses a gentler assault afterward, Claire closing her eyes in ecstasy. 

Owen lifted her so her thighs locked round his waist, her hands fisting in his hair. It still felt so _good_ ; every time, his touch - no matter how small - would send shockwaves through her, blood heating in an instant. It was bittersweet, though; her mind still corrupted by the thoughts she couldn’t ignore. “Owen? Can I ask you something?” Claire breathed, already erratic. “Mmm?” He answered absentmindedly, lips still against her, already stroking the skin beneath the hem of her dress. “Are you still sleeping with other women?” Claire garbled, caught between the sensations rolling through her and her nerves surrounding his reaction.

Owen lifted his head, Claire slipping from grasp slowly. His brow furrowed; handsome, worn features marred with confusion. “What do you mean?” He asked, and Claire was thrown by the intrigue in his voice. “I mean - I don’t _care_ if you are, but, I don’t know.. I guess, I’d just like to know,” Claire muttered, rolling her shoulders to seem as though she truly couldn’t give a damn. Owen raised an eyebrow, taking a small step away from her. “You wouldn’t care if I were sleepin’ with any other girls?” He asked; slowly, seriously, his eyes watching her every move. Claire swallowed thickly, shaking her head. 

In one motion, Owen lifted her over his shoulder, and carried her over the threshold. Claire squeaked in surprise, unsure of what was to come. She wasn’t scared; he’d never frightened her. Claire was nervous, though - _what did it mean?_ She didn’t have time to think, as Owen deposited her on his bed gently. He clambered over her hips, settling on his knees. He stripped himself graciously of his Henley, tossing it somewhere behind him. Claire watched him with lustful eyes; like it was the first time, he was heavenly, large and chiselled to perfection, a smatter of the same dark blonde hair creeping over his strong chest.

Owen shifted back a little, sitting above her knees. “I want you to take this off,” he commanded, tapping the hem of her dress, his eyes clouded and dark with desire. Claire wriggled out of the material; watching him grin dangerously at her struggle as it left her spread out beneath him in nothing but Victoria’s Secret. In a moment; he was kissing her, hard and fast, supporting himself on one forearm, the other hand toying with the fabric of her underwear. He slipped a strap down her arm, his lips travelling to the valley of her breasts; calloused fingers working their magic before reaching round to pop the clasp. He pulled her free of her bra, dropping it to the floor beside them. 

Owen sat astride her waist once more; merely staring at her for a moment, inhaling deeply through his nose. Claire watched him decide what to do with her; it was a delicious contradiction, it made her feel so _wanton_ and yet she was unsure of what he would try to prove. _Was it just a farewell fuck? Had he realised Claire wasn’t worth the effort - that she was too clingy, too soon?_ She wasn’t used to doubting herself. Owen lowered himself; kissing her lips chastely, tenderly, before turning his attention to her breasts. He was kissing, biting and sucking with gusto; Claire moaning freely as her toes curled, feeling too close to the edge already from his administrations. She reached for him; Owen pinned her arms back a little forcefully. 

“What you’re tellin’ me then, baby, is that you wouldn’t _care_ if I did this to another woman?” He murmured against her chest, the sound rumbling through Claire’s body, goosebumps raised across her flesh. Owen’s hand skated over the flat of her belly; smoothing over her underwear. He lifted his head to see her. Claire’s breath hitched; she was incapable of speech, waiting for his move, on the precipice of desire. He slipped his hand beneath the silk, and Claire felt him inside her; and cried out from the surprise, the heady mix of pain and pleasure. “I want you to answer me,” Owen commanded, watching her intently, his eyes moving from her flushed face to his movements below. 

“I would care,” Claire gasped, her chest heaving. She sensed her answer wasn’t good enough; his motion slowed, bringing her to the brink and back again. “I _do_ care,” she groaned, and Owen’s grin was wicked, his mouth on hers, claiming her. She was his, she was sold. “Good girl,” he breathed raggedly when they broke apart, his thumb stroking the most sensitive part of her body. His rhythm was sensational; she ground against him for more, spine arching, eager for everything he was giving her. “ _This_ is all I need. All I’ve needed since the first day I ever saw you,” he whispered into her ear, biting the lobe softly, kissing the sensitive spot behind.

“Owen, I -” Claire half-sobbed with pleasure; knowing she was almost there simply from the way he was fucking her so wonderfully with just his digits. Owen hushed her; moving over Claire once more, tugging his pants down just enough to see them through. He shifted forward, and Claire was in paradise as they moved as one, Owen gripping her wrists either side of her head. “I’d be crazy to give you up,” he gasped, and she revelled in the sensation of him, how he filled her so beautifully. “I want you,” Owen murmured between kisses as he bent his head, “in _every_ way that I can have you.”

Claire was coming undone beneath him, and Owen above her; riding the wave he carried them on, his name leaving Claire’s lips on a primal cry. What they shared was animalistic; one insatiable for the other, the perfect foundation to build a future on. She wanted to savour the moment; Owen’s confession, the weight of unknowing leaving her shoulders, the immense joy flooding her veins as the world fell away around them. Owen collapsed beside her; tugging Claire over him, pressing kisses to her hair. She laid against his chest for what felt like hours, their heartbeats regulating together. 

Claire lifted her head; smiling shyly as Owen grinned back. “I wanted to go at your pace, Claire. I didn’t wanna screw anything up before it even became _somethin’_. I can’t believe how lucky I got, and I’m ready for whatever you want,” he said quietly, and Claire moved to kiss him; the passion between them unbridled. “You get the picture?” He asked with a soft chuckle when they broke apart, as Claire sat back on her knees, dragging the sheets around her. 

“I _think_ so,” Claire mused; her very being suffused with joy as she grasped his hands, pulling him toward her, legs around her. “But I might need you to go over it again,” she laughed, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. Owen shook his head as he laughed; one hand on the small of Claire’s back, their foreheads leant against one another. Owen gently tugged her lip free, meeting her with his own, Claire sighing in content. 


End file.
